Tragedy of the Copperbell Mine

Fifteen years ago, a group of bandits occupied Copperbell Mine after a series of robberies near Ul’dah. Ul’danian force traced the bandits down to the Copperbell Mine. I was one of the guards who joined the pursuit. At the entrance, we saw some small scale of fighting. It looked like the local miners tried to fight off the armed bandits. Of course, all we see were injured and dead miners.

Troops were separated into small groups to perform detail search for the bandits and survivors. My group was assigned to check the tool room at bottom layer. I’ve been to Copperbell Mine, but I never felt this “evil” feeling before that chilled me to the bone. We found no survivors, nor bandits, on the way, only bloods and acidic smell everywhere. Finally, we found tool room, also 2 miners inside. Similar caught by the Voodoo magic, miners just uncontrollably screaming with extremely low pitch as devils’. While failed to claim them down, we heard shouts nearby:

“Over Here!”

They found the trace of bandits. I was asked to take care of miners while the rest reinforcing others. Before they left, one of the senior guards tossed me a weird bottle.

“My latest invention from Frondale’s Phrontistery….” guard said.
“It can make you stealth! “ Then, he ran with the rest.

As I started getting anxious from noisy miners, I started to hear some rattle sound and felt ground movement immediately after. It felt like hundreds of stuffs tried coming off the ground. Seconds later, I heard some shouting,

“We’re under attack!”
“Watch out!!”

The fighting noise outside was going on, but, shortly, all ended by an extremely high pitch screaming follow by many wail in pain. I felt the strong waves, through wall, shocked every nerve in my body. It was too strong, I fell a few steps back. Then, finally…blacked out…

Still dizzy, I woke up as sitting at the corner and lost track of time. I checked the miners. Looked like one of them was still screaming, but I can only hear humming sound inside my head. As I just about to stand up to check, I heard a clear whisper:

“Use~~potion~~”

It’s so clear like someone spoke next to my ears. Still puzzled, but I poured the potion all over myself. I saw my hands and legs started fading away. Shortly, I felt this THING suddenly teleported up to the doorway and staring at the miners. It was a half-transparent ghost with a pair of boned wings. It’s an Ascian!

[stealthIV not photoshoped]

The flaming eyes of the Ascian started to grow. Then, I saw both miners’ flesh started melting away in front of my eyes. They looked like screaming in pain, but I can’t hear any... I held my breath, held my shaking hands and held my mouth. Before I realized, the Ascian was already gone. The miners… only bones l can see…and that bloody acidic smell…

Slowly, I started hearing things around. The first caught my attention was the same rattling sounds outside. I pulled myself together and walked to the door. Shockingly, all I saw…ants…Countless ants… everywhere. They were walking over some pile of… metals and white bones! I recognized these armors. These belonged to our troops! I couldn’t control and gasped. Some of the ants discovered my existence and started to walk toward me. Next thing that caught my attention was cracking sounds behind me. The bones of the miners started to form… stood up…then walked toward me. Soon, I was surrounded by undeads and ants.

When I woke up, I lied on the bed of Hourglass. Some told me a young Seedseer, Kan-E-Seena, saved me but no others. Horrible deaths of miners created lots negative energy and lured nearby Ascian.

The bandits were killed by the Ascian before we arrived… Our troops didn’t survive long after that either…

The bloods of victims lured the ants, and presence of Ascian converted the dead. The Cooperbell Mine is still occupied by some ants and undeads now. Maybe, I’ll recognize some of… them.

People say if the children are wailing too loud at night… Ascian will show up at their doorway next…
until…
bones left…

Curious Pumpkins

Come close my little Lalafellin friend, let us share the warmth of the flame. Now is the time to savor the season. The air is crisp, shadows grow long, harvest crops are aplenty; most prominently pumpkins. A pumpkin's potential is seemingly limitless is it not? They're sauteed into soups and sauces, baked into cakes and pies, and of course crafted into luminous lanterns of all shapes and size. Ah yes, how they delight us with their delectable dishes - enchant us with their grins aglow. However... pumpkin lore isn't always a treat. In fact I have knowledge of a rather tricky tale. Curious? Then allow me to pass to you a pumpkin parable...

Long ago in ages past, early Lalafellin villages were thriving. The secret to their success was a solid sowing of the land. Those long-laboring Lalafell harvested everything from tomatoes and popotoes to lentils and laurels. Yet procuring pumpkin was proving to be a problem. Rumor was the grandiose gourds only grew deep within a wicked woods - where wicked creatures would reside. Over pumpkin patches in particular lingered odors of rot and ash; the sickening stench of an imp. Few would dare attempt such a perilous act as to pluck a pumpkin from an imp's possession. Those that would, always failed to return with one. Sometimes they failed to return at all...

One would be wise to be wary of such reckless risk. But curiosity could not be contained in a certain young Lalafell. Stories of such splendorous squash stuck in his head. What tastes would they waken? What potions could they concoct? He proceeded to a pumpkin patch without pondering the price.

With daylight long past he found himself peeping at shadowy silhouettes he could not make out precisely and from the patch he snatched what he perceived a perfectly round prize. At that moment the air became as cold as old skeleton bones and bit at his face; branches seemed to be reaching out to pull him up and away into the darkness, or perhaps the darkness itself would drag him down to the depths of the earth to rest forever with the worms. Then suddenly the gloom parted and a full moon illuminated the night. The young Lalafell could see clearly now and before him lay not pumpkins at all, but heads - Lalafell heads protruding from the patch. Above them all danced a heinous imp who began spewing forth a vile cackle. The young Lalafell's gaze then fell to what he had held in his hands; a pudgy round face peered back at him. Recoiling with dread he dropped the head to the dirt and frantically fled without looking back.

Miraculously he managed to make his way home and safe in his bed he sunk deep into slumber. When he awoke he thought it best to surmise that the somber sights he had seen were nothing more than a devilish dream. He had never been happier with what he already had. But on his way to give glory to what grew in his garden he let loose a spleen splitting scream. For in front of his door sat a positively preposterous pile of pumpkins.

Though the truth of their transformation our young friend tried to tell, too pleased with the presents the people were to listen. So from then on pumpkins became planted in tradition.

Now imps are known to be terrible tricksters and some are certain that it was merely an illusion manifested by magick that night. However others claim the incantation was crueler and remain convinced imps of such profane power exist, gleefully turning overly curious Lalafell into pumpkins to this very day.

Not to worry my little friend, no imps are around to curse curious Lalafell this night.

Sometimes They Don't Come Back

You young adventurers.... Fidgeting around camp, hounding me for stories about how the world used to be! Why, I’d wager you’d all still be coddling your dolls if you weren’t so eager for a bit of coin and infamy, scrambling to cozy up to Aldynn and his Flames.

How they used to be?! Well have a seat, and I’ll tell you how different this world was from when you were in your swaddling clothes.

In its heyday, Limsa was busting at the seams with traders. Folks poured in by the droves every day from Ul’dah, and The-Twelve-only-know where to hawk their wares, everyone out to fatten their pockets. I couldn’t have been much older than you when the rumors started flying about the disappearances…

What’s that? You’ve never heard of disappearances in Limsa? *snort!* Use your head, man! Do you really think that the Admiral would suffer that kind of scandalous talk openly?

Now as I was saying, the first rumor I recall was about this loud-mouthed drunkard who used to stomp around town shouting loads of nonsense. Well, one day the shouting just...stopped. Funny thing, I don’t think I noticed right off, but eventually the quiet just settled in. Depending on who you asked, he was either looking for new boots, or maybe a sword, or a bolt of cloth? Whichever it was, folks say he wandered his damn fool self into the Southern Island Wards.

Oh, don’t look so smug. The Wards back then certainly weren’t the same as today. Folks would go in, spend HOURS trying to find the things they needed with no help or direction from anyone there. After all, the longer those oily merchants had you in there, the fatter their pockets became. Why, I’d wager you peach-fuzzed adventurers wouldn’t last five minutes against one of those, silver-tongued merchants who would just as soon cut your throat as your purse! In any case,... no one ever heard from that fella again after that.

Most of the talk was the same: a nobleman disappeared while looking for a hat, or a sell-sword to get his mail fixed. Folks went into the Wards but they never came back.

Around that time I hired this sad-eyed, young Elezen to hawk my linen in the Wards. Oh, don’t look so concerned. The lass always had more steel hidden on her person than in Bodenholf has in his whole damn guild, and the last man tried to rob her found himself three fingers shorter for his trouble!

One day, I went into the Wards to collect my weekly profits. Walked around for awhile, and found the girl huddling in the corner. White as a sheet she was, babbling to herself and making pledges to The Twelve. She chucked my cloth at me and ran off without an apology or a backward glance.

That’s when I noticed the air was cold. Damn cold. Colder than summer in Limsa had any right to be.

The air reeked foul, like blood and corruption. I felt eyes watching me but I never turned around. Ran myself out of the Wards fast as these short legs would take me. Ran all the way to the ferry docks, I did.. not feelin’ safe until we was out on the water.

HAR! Your eyes are bigger than a Ewe caught a whiff of a jackal upwind!

Anyways, been here in Thanalan ever since. Trade’s been good, despite the sand in everyone’s knickers. Though it’s right odd that trade has been dropping off so much as late. Last time I went to the Ward to collect, not a damn thing had sold. Wonder where all the buyers have run off to? I swear I got a chill in my bones, never mind that it’s summer in the damn desert.

I harbor tale for you all. My friends, I sit here before you, to convince you of a horror greater than Dalamud.
Once upon a time…
No, wait.
One day…
Ugh, that’s not how I should start it. I’m sorry, let me try this again.
I have a good beginning now! I am sure every sailor and his mother have heard of the legend of the sahagin. These small, vicious foes wouldn’t hesitate to murder any creature, limb from limb, leaving a décor of entrails upon the grass where you once stood.
Yet… no one knows of the threat greater than the sahagin. One could easily tell me, “It’s Leviathan, ye ignorant pissant!”
No.
“They” defined what a true monster was.

Not long ago, a friend and I were to meet at Bloodshore, where we were to train. As I reached the camp, she told me via linkpearl that she was to be a few minutes late. So, to kill time, I went for a small, tranquil walk.
Wandering, lance on shoulder, I observed the quiet lands that surrounded me. Playful grass flowed to and fro, dancing with the breezes that twirled my hair about.
It would have been the perfect.
The caverns west of Bloodshore were calm. Amongst the wind I heard my breath, conflicting with what normally would have been a field bursting with activity. However, the area suddenly chilled, leaving me to face the worst.
Brandishing my lance, I stepped into defensive position, glancing around with apprehension.
With every step I took, the heavier I breathed; I prayed to the Twelve that it was not something that would leave my awaiting friend with the parting gift of my dismembered body.

That’s when I noticed it. In a small corner, hidden among a cave nearby, there was a shadow. A deep, monstrous shade, shaped like a behemoth…
I squeaked. There was no reason for it, but it appeared so frightening that I could not help the sound emitting from my throat.
I shifted, gripping tighter onto the pole. Then it happened. In a fast rage, it leaped at me! It just…
WADDLED TO ME AND CASTED PROTECT…
ON ME! OH, THE HORROR!!!!
I widened my eyes. It was… SO ADORABLE!
It was what the legends screamed: a burble!
The fuzzy, adorable beast was just what it was: adorable. It wasn’t going to harm me! And to think I thought it was a behemoth.
“Aww… aren’t you so cute?” I recalled cooing at it, kneeling down to reach out and pet it.
The burble purred, similar to the cats I normally do not get along with. That’s right, miqo’tes. Just hearing the purr calmed my heart…
Then I heard a purr that overlapped the current one. Was it possible in a burble to do such a thing?
No.

It wasn’t possible.
There was a second purring…
I wondered where it could have derived from…
Behind. That’s right. I turned my head slowly, seeing one. Wrong again. Two, three, four… there they were. Twenty-three of them, all surrounding me. Their cute eyes, furry bodies…
“Goooood burbles…” I squeaked softly before standing tall. Did they all want petting?
One hissed. Then a second, and a third… and before long, an extreme chain of hissing filled the air. STAB THEM!
With a panicked look, I lifted my lance…
and screamed in my mind. Where is my lance!? There was no lance in my grasp. Ah, shite.
It was on the grassy earth, underneath all… that… fluffy fur.
I couldn’t move. I was surrounded. What were they going to do to me!?
Eyes widened, I noticed that they were casting some form of magic. At least let it end me quick! I thought with a small whimper.
Twenty-three barriers then formed around me, oddly enough. It brought a sigh of relief. They were just casting protect! Hahaha! I laughed, knowing that it was just a silly paranoia I had. They were just too cute to be evil.
Why would they even try and hurt me?

…The hissing began again. Before I realized it, they widened their eyes, opened their mouths and…
My friends, I was never heard from again.

Haze found himself alone, separated from his companions. The woods were cold, and growing increasingly dark, as an ominous mist rolled into view. True Haze had spent their travel in its entirety contemplating the tale behind these cursed woods. A Miqo’te in white, a ghostly visage, haunting weary unknowing travelers on their adventures. Haze was not the sort to believe in such things, and so he and his companions set out to disprove such superstitions. While searching the area for signs of his lost friends, Haze could hear a peculiar sound off in the distance. A low and sinister growl, like that of a giant Coeurl. As he was not one to show fear, he pressed himself onward toward the vicinity of the noise. What he would find in the clearing ahead, was not even imaginable to Haze. Lying prostrate on the wet grass, was his second in command, Kazuma. Kazuma was not one to go down so easily, especially without leaving the landscape scarred from fierce battle. Yet there was no evidence of such. As Haze knelt down to examine the body of his friend, there was a deafeningly loud shriek to his immediate right. As he spun to face the sound’s origin, sword drawn and ready, he caught a glimpse of something white, moving away from him at an incredible speed. He began to reassure himself that it was merely his mind playing tricks in the darkness. His attention returned to Kazuma lying still on the ground. He gave the body a careful inspection, but there appeared to be no fatal wounds. A sudden chill ran down Haze’s spine, and the cold seemed to multiply itself. The expression on Kazuma’s face, served only to compound Haze’s uneasiness. It was almost as if Kazuma had died purely from shock, or fear. Haze rose up quickly, pulling his shield staunchly toward his front. “Who’s there?” He shouted. “The perpetrator of such a crime, is a coward to hide in the shadows!” He exclaimed, trying to provoke a response. The woods fell silent, not even the trivial sounds of crickets remained. Haze began surveying the area, slowly twisting in a circle, with sword raised, prepared to strike. His breathing growing louder and heavy, his eyes fell upon the rustling of a distant tree. It stood apart from all the others in its distinct movements. Haze moved forward to investigate. Another unimagined sight befell his eyes. Another of his companions, Kalkin, the most light hearted and humorous of the group. Fighting with all his will to preserve his life, as he dangled helplessly from the large tree. Haze quickly assessed the situation, and found the tattered rope’s had been secured. In a lightning instant, he slashed away the rope’s hold. Kalkin fell to the ground gasping, as he tried to regain his composure. “I really thought I would be hung out to dry here!” Kalkin chuckled, barely able to force the words through his constricted throat. “We need to leave this place Haze. We need to leave NOW!” he exclaimed, in a stern yet fearful voice. “What about Epyk?” Haze questioned. Kalkin hung his head lower, “I do not know what has or will happen to Epyk, but we must leave the darkness of these woods. We can return in the dawn.” Kalkin pleaded. Haze looked at him displeased, his face distorted with terror. “The stories are true.” He added. “Not only that, but the ghost was upon me before I could ready my lance.” Kalkin was indeed no coward, but at this moment, could not even find the courage to stand. Haze nodded solemnly, “We will return as soon as there is light, and find a logical explanation for all these events.” Haze stated. As he turned around toward the start of these dreaded woods, standing right before him, face to face, were what seemed the red eyes of the devil itself, and the floating ghostly body of a young Miqo’te. He quickly turned to command Kalkin to run, but the hefty Roegadyn lay bloodied on the ground behind him. His gaze moving instantly back to the glowing eyes of red. His body began to shudder, as fear in its truest form took hold of him. The deathly visage’s mouth opened, and a blood boiling screech echoed throughout the woods. Haze tried to call out, but he could find no words. As the ghost raised its hands high into the air, Haze closed his eyes, in preparation for what was to come. At that very moment Epyk called out from the distance. The ghost immediately turning toward the sound. Haze shot up from his cowered position, shield pulled to the ready. Reciting the words of his sacred vows as a Paladin, a divine protection fell over the two companions, shattering the ground beneath them. His sword began to glow and emanate from his righteousness, as he plunged forward as hard as he could into the demon’s chest. The ghostly demon twisting in excruciating pain, and it quickly faded from sight. They had lost their companions this night, but had rid the world of a sinister evil. It was not much of a condolence, but it was all that had to comfort them in the coming tides of time.

I see you guys are telling horror stories by the campfire. Mind if I join you? Actually, I don't care for your answer. I'm going to start anyway. Tonight I'm going to share the story of the campfire by the bubbling brook. It's a very real, sorrowful tale.

There was once a beautiful Lalafell, fair to look upon and quite pleasing to the eyes. She was a brave adventurer with a heart of gold, always quick to lend a hand to those in need. This kind nature won her many friends. It also won her over many bad friends. Unfortunately, she was very naive and was betrayed.

One friend was very close to her, or so she believed. Through the course of several events she fell in love with him. He was a handsome Lalafell, and very good with words. Quite the bold adventurer, and one who could make anyone feel safe just by being by his side. His embrace was one of angels. But in truth, he wasn't worth believing in. His actions weren't for the good of anyone but himself. He was a treasure hunter, and made the stuff of legends his god. He served treasure rather than his fellow man.

One night he invited the lass to a serene location for a quaint dinner for two. A campfire by a bubbling brook. She hesitated not a heartbeat to accept, so much was her heart set on him.

But it was not out of kindness in any degree. His stone heart was set on naught but a valuable discovery housing much power, not yet in his tightfisted grip. To acquire the object he laced the food with poisoning—a powerful concoction that would permanently put to sleep anyone given the proper dose. Yet his skill was quite lacking.

It wasn't long after the start of the meal the poor girl fell into slumber. He nicked his desired item off of her, lifted her up, and tossed her into the stream. Immediately she awoke. The dosage given was far too lacking. He meant to make it look like the cause of death was simply some accident in which caused her to drown, but since the poison failed he had no choice but to handle the matter himself. He grabbed her by hair by one hand to force her under and with the other countered any manner of resistance.

There was no red stream. The water remained a crystal clear. A lovely location. A campfire by a bubbling brook.

Legend has it that the poor lass, although dead, still exists. It is said she rises from her watery grave, and using the campfire, can warp to any other campfire all across the land. She seeks those who have no room for others in their heart. She seeks those who think only of themselves. She puts them in a calm lull as if the air about them is invisible water, peacefully drowning them, and then she carries them back to her bubbling brook, to bury them in the same watery grave. Of course, it is as I mentioned before. It's a very real and sorrowful tale. It's no legend.